Chameleon
by tajjer
Summary: Draco shows Harry his scars.  Based off part of Chameleon Boy by Blue October.  HarryDraco, DH spoilers


**Title:** Chameleon  
**Rating:** PG-13, I suppose.  
**Word count:** 2,839**  
****Warnings:** Slash, some language, mentions of self-mutilation, nudity, war stories. Not epilogue-compliant, but there are Deathly Hallows spoilers!  
**Summary:** Draco shows Harry his scars. Based off part of Chameleon Boy by Blue October.  
**Notes: **I saw Blue October in concert a while ago, and I absolutely fell in love with this song. I had to do something with it. So, here it is. I plan write another version eventually, one that would take the entire song into account, but for now, this will do.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, sadly. Neither the boys nor the song are mine.  
**Con-crit: **Welcome and appreciated.

**Chameleon**

_I changed my color for you  
I shed my coat with caution  
I lack the beauty you display_

_See here there are the bruises  
And some were self-inflicted  
And some showed up along the way_

_So I nod my head  
I'm ready for the world to see  
The secret I kept here inside the man you thought I'd be_

_Slip into coma calm  
The coma where I calm myself down  
Here comes excuses, why I let you down_

_Stand by for another breakdown  
Sound off the alarm  
Is this the chameleon boy I swore I wouldn't become?_

_Chameleon Boy  
Blue October_

"And this one…."

His deft fingers glided along his chest and stomach, up and down, oh so slowly, emphasizing one grayish line that was much longer and thicker than any of the others.

"You gave me this one, Potter."

Harry's gaze didn't leave the scar. His eyes followed those long fingers upward to the man's collarbone, then down, past his belly button, down to the hem of his pants where the gray line disappeared.

"Do you remember?" The voice was so soft Harry almost didn't catch it. "Do you remember when you did this to me? I do." And the blond dropped to his knees, his eyes right where his fingers had been, and Harry couldn't look anywhere else. "In the bathroom, at Hogwarts, in our sixth year. I was crying…. Yes, I was, I admit it…. And you came in. We fought. I wanted nothing more than to cast the Cruciatus Curse on you…. But then you cast that spell…" he moved closer, so his mouth was pressed to Harry's ear, "Sectumsempra."

For a moment, Harry was certain Draco had cast the spell. He felt… well, it wasn't pain, but it was cold, trickling down his chest…. It took him a moment to realize that Draco had snaked his hand up under Harry's shirt, and his fingers were practically frozen.

"I almost died that day." Draco pulled his head back enough to look into those green eyes, his own silver ones sparkling with something like curiosity. "I surely would have if Snape hadn't come in when he did. You wouldn't have saved me, would you have? Not that I expected you to. That isn't exactly a _friendly_ spell."

"It wasn't…. I didn't…."

Harry wasn't entirely sure why he couldn't say "I didn't mean to," or "I didn't know what it did." He just couldn't seem to get it out. Maybe it was because he knew Draco wouldn't believe it. Hell, even _he_ hardly believed it anymore. He knew, he _knew_ it had been a mistake, but the more he thought about it, the less he could honestly say he hadn't expected it. Or wanted it, for that matter. Because, if he was honest with himself, he really _had_ wanted to hurt Draco in that moment.

"I _know_, Harry." Sharp fingernails scraped down Harry's chest to his belly button, then disappeared. Draco leaned back, resting on his legs. "And this one…." His hand played over his shoulder now, over a scar that ran from bicep to pulse point. "You should remember this one, too. Your partner did this to me, the night you arrested me." A small smile crossed his lips and he tilted his head to the side, caressing the scar with the backs of his fingernails. "You tried to stop him. I remember, you decked him. You didn't curse him, you punched him. I always wondered why…. But, well, I think I get it now. You don't like using curses much anymore, do you? How odd, an Auror who avoids cursing folk…."

"I didn't want to hurt him, I wanted him to stop hurting you."

The curiosity in Draco's eyes only seemed to spark and flare at that, but he just continued, moving his hand down his arm to just past his right elbow. "You gave me this one, too, but I imagine you don't remember." Harry blinked at him in confusion. "It's from the night you arrested me, too. It was an accident. When you pushed me out of the way of a curse, and took it yourself. Sliced my arm open on some arse's cursed blade. I was so angry at you for it… until I saw what the curse had done to you, at least." He lifted his fingers from his own scar up to Harry's stomach, brushing the large, circular, burn-like mark beneath the fabric of his shirt. "I never got to say thank you for that."

"You can say it now."

Draco nodded and moved his face forward a bit, the tip of his nose bumping against Harry's. "Thank you." Then he tilted his head and moved even closer to the other man, brushing soft lips against soft lips for a mere moment.

A slightly goofy smile crept onto Harry's face, despite the seriousness of the conversation. "You're welcome," he murmured a moment after Draco had pulled his mouth away, leaning his forehead against Draco's. His slid his hand onto Draco's shoulder, then around to the back of his neck and downward, resting it against a scar in the center of the blond's spine that Harry had noticed several times before but had never asked about. "What about this one?"

"I don't quite remember," he shrugged, still massaging fingers against Harry's stomach. "Death Eaters, I know. Might've been the night you and your friends were brought to the Manor."

Harry blinked at that, pulling his head away to see Draco's face better. "What?"

"You don't remember that either?" Draco shook his head, narrowing his eyes. "Merlin, Potter, what do you keep up there, anyhow?" he asked, gesturing toward Harry's head. "I knew it was you. Even with that—what was it—Stinging Spell, or whatever you used. There was no doubt in my mind. And my parents—well, they didn't know it was you, but they knew I was keeping something to myself. And when you got my wand, everyone thought I'd let you, like I'd done it on purpose to help you get away…. None of them were too thrilled about that."

Harry was appalled, but he didn't comment. He knew what kinds of people Death Eaters were, and he knew Draco knew. It wasn't the time to discuss it, anyway. "Alright, off with the pants."

Draco raised an eyebrow as he pushed himself to his feet. He unbuttoned his muggle jeans and let them slip to the floor, standing before the other man in nothing but a pair of boxers. He had fewer scars on his legs, and certainly fewer stories to them; most of them had been from countless Quidditch accidents, or simply skinning his knees in one of his very, very rare clumsy moments. But Harry had told Draco about every single one of his, whether or not there was some exciting tale behind it, and Draco would return the favor.

He started on his feet. "Got this one when I was little. My first broom. Mum told me not to fly higher than the second floor of the Manor, but I didn't listen. Fell off at the fourth floor. I was quite lucky; all I broke was my foot. Mum didn't let me fly for almost a year after that." Then he moved up to his shins. "Cut my leg open flying a few years ago. Trying to get away from some shady characters. They cursed me mid-air, and I flew through a window. When they caught me, they did…" he moved his hand up and over to his left knee, the worst scar on his legs, "this. Broke my knee. Tore the cap clear off. Bloody painful to heal."

Harry cringed at that. He knew what kinds of _shady characters_ Draco had dealt with in his past, and he was surprised they'd left off at a broken knee. He wanted to ask how Draco had gotten away, but he decided that if Draco didn't explain on his own, it would be best not to press it.

"Another cursed blade, this one," Draco continued, emphasizing a small but rather nasty-looking mark on the side of his right thigh. "A fight with Aurors. I didn't know before then that most of you carried cursed blades."

Then he shrugged and sat down on the bed next to Harry, pulling his legs up beneath him. "That's all of them."

But Harry ignored the words. His eyes were focused intently on Draco's left leg, right where skin met fabric on his thigh. He narrowed his eyes at the skin, unable to tell. Perhaps it wasn't…. "Draco," he demanded, pointing to the place he was so focused on, "what is _that_?"

Draco looked down at his leg, then back up… then down again… then up…. He pushed the hem of his boxers down a bit, then stood. "Nothing. I've never even noticed it before."

He made to move away, but Harry caught his wrist and forced him back down onto the bed. He squirmed, feeling rather uncomfortable under the other man's gaze…. It was not a kind stare, almost as harsh as the ones Harry had given him back in their school days, when they had shared a mutual loathing. Well, he was far more than uncomfortable—he was almost frightened. Harry hadn't looked at him like that in years. It was a look he hadn't missed.

"Draco," Harry said quietly, effectively pinning Draco with his body, "you promised me. Don't you _dare_ break your promise."

Well, that was only fair. Draco _had_ promised; he'd promised Harry every scar he had, inside and out. Harry had already given Draco his. It would be unfair for him not to tell Harry this one last bit…. But oh, Gods, he really didn't want to….

"_Draco_."

"Promise you won't… hate me?"

The harsh stare was quickly replaced with genuine care and concern. "Draco…."

Calming breaths. One, two, three… four…. Five…. He'd mastered this technique, calming himself like this. He could handle almost anything after only a few deep breaths. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed a bit more… and when he opened them, he spoke slowly, unnaturally calm. "It was self-inflicted, Harry."

Harry's eyes went wide. "S…. Self-inflicted?"

"Yes." Draco shifted a bit beneath Harry's body, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. He took another deep breath to calm himself. "Can you get off of me, please?"

The other man ignored the question, only pushing Draco into the mattress harder. "Why? Why did you do it? Did you…. Do you still…?"

"I do it when I feel it necessary," he said flatly, as if that were all the reason he needed.

"Necessary!" Harry's voice rose, eyes growing fierce. "When would hurting yourself like that ever be _necessary_?"

"Look, Potter…." He did his best to keep an annoyed look on his face, but he could feel his demeanor slipping. He'd never told anyone about this before…. And Harry yelling wasn't going to help calm his nerves. "I know I haven't been through as much as you have, but my life hasn't exactly been _easy_. I had to have _some_ way of dealing with things."

Harry's mouth dropped open at that. He struggled for a moment, jaw flapping silently, before shrieking, "But _this_?!"

Draco was trembling, and Harry must have felt it, because he finally rolled off of the other man, releasing his tight grip on Draco's arm. Draco took several more deep breaths, to stop the shaking. It didn't help. If anything, he shook more. "Yes, this. I'm not as strong as you are, Potter. I-I can't handle things like you can. You're s-so bloody strong, but not all of us can be like that. Some of us have to… figure out how to deal."

"You think I didn't need to figure it out, too?" Harry hissed, eyes sparkling with wetness. "You think it was easy for me to deal with everything? You think it wasn't hard for me to pick myself up after the war?"

"I'm not s-saying it wasn't hard, I'm saying you _did it_," Draco whispered as the shaking grew worse. "And I c-couldn't."

At that, Harry looked over at the blond, concern mingling with fear on his tear-stained face. "That's _not true_. You picked yourself up. You changed your colors, Dray. Maybe it took you a bit longer than most, but it doesn't mean—"

Draco stood quickly, or as quickly as he could, and pushed his boxers down hastily. Then he spread his legs and ran a hand harshly over the skin on his inner thigh, where the tiny, almost invisible pink lines disrupted the smooth white. "You call this picking myself up?" he asked quietly, looking straight into Harry's eyes. "I changed my colors, yeah, but it wasn't like I had much of a choice, and I wouldn't have had the strength to do it if it weren't for you. Hell, even _with_ you, I wasn't strong enough." He indicated the longest and most visible mark on his thigh, running from the center down to just above the knee. "I gave that to myself the day I made the deal with the Ministry." He rubbed his hand against the skin roughly again before settling his fingers over a smaller one. "This one was after you arrested me. This one—" he moved his fingers down a bit—"was right after I got out of Azkaban." Then he moved his hand upward again, right to the top of his thigh, where a short but quite thick scar was. "And this was after you kissed me that first time."

"Shit."

Harry wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He just stared, with a sort of sick fascination, as Draco's fingers traced the scars almost longingly. If he'd known…. If he'd known Draco was doing that to himself…. Well, he didn't know what he would have done, but he would have done _something_….

The trembling had not gone, but the feeling in all of Draco's limbs had, and he collapsed back onto the bed next to Harry, trying desperately to calm himself. He would stay in control of himself. _He would stay in control of himself_.

"What's the last one you gave yourself?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco pointed without even looking, to a tiny little mark that was barely visible, a couple inches above the knee. "Two months ago."

"Why?"

He closed his eyes tightly and took another deep breath. Gods, he felt like such a fool. "We fought. You were so angry with me, and I didn't know if I could get you back."

There was a long silence, so pressing that Draco couldn't even get a breath in. When he opened his eyes, Harry had closed his. His nostrils were flared, lips curled oddly, wet tracks on his cheeks, hand rubbing at his forehead. It was a look Draco recognized easily, the same look Harry got when he knew neither one of them were about to win a fight but he wanted it to end anyway. Well, at least that was a good sign.

"It's sick, Draco." Harry's voice was so soft Draco had trouble hearing him. "It's sick and it's wrong to hurt yourself like that. And more than anything, it scares me. Just don't…. Please promise me you won't. Please. If something's…. If something's wrong, talk to me. Talk to _someone_. Just don't… hurt yourself anymore. Don't make me worry about you."

Draco sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He had been raised to keep things to himself, to relieve stress through any way possible that didn't show weakness to others. Well, he'd already betrayed that rule…. This was his biggest weakness, and Harry had seen it. But somehow, Draco didn't really mind…. He still felt a fool for hurting himself, but there was something about Harry's tone that made him glad he'd told him. Harry was concerned, and, it seemed, genuinely frightened, and Draco got an odd kind of satisfaction out of that.

And Draco understood what scared Harry so much. It was dark, what Draco did to himself, far darker than anyone in the light side ever did. It was a link to his old life, a link almost as big as the hideous mark on his left forearm. It was his way of relieving stress privately, his way of keeping himself hidden. It was so dark it even scared Draco a bit, when he really thought about it. He had disowned the dark, almost a year ago to the day, but that was one part of it he had never given up, never even considered giving up before. He was a chameleon, of sorts, with all the claimings of a good, clean light wizard, while he hid away those little dark spots.

He nodded, slowly, and moved closer to the other man, curling up against his side. "I promise I won't hurt myself anymore, Harry."

Draco had changed his colors once already. He would never, ever return to the dark.

_Fin _


End file.
